


Expletive Not Deleted

by Cherith



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, James' workbench gets a bit of action, cursing and lots of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherith/pseuds/Cherith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie Shepard works out her frustrations.  First, on the punching bag near James' workstation.  Second, on James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expletive Not Deleted

**Author's Note:**

> For Summer. On her birthday.

__  
Swimming in a snifter  
 _Pretty as a picture_  
 _Don't get it twisted man her right is a bitch_  
 _You can name, you can keep em_  
 _But take care when you feed her  
_ _You never can take the fight out the fish  
_ _~Dessa “Fighting Fish”_

Marie entered the lift and hit the button for the cargo hold, grumbling to herself. _Onboard not even 10 minutes, and no one is where I fucking expect them to be._  She loved her crew, she did, but when she wanted them it seemed like they were always off in some other distant part of the ship.  For Chrissakes she’d found Sam in Diana’s chamber and Liara in Javik’s, Liara had been in the right place, but prying her away from her Shadow Broker screens was a nightmare.  In fact, the only one that was ever consistently in place was Joker, and if he went on walkabout, they were all screwed.  

_It can’t be so difficult to find someone to talk to for five minutes.  Ten maybe._  Shit was happening faster than she was ready for: her, Commander fucking Shepard, and the most she wanted was five minutes where she could yell at someone about the news from Earth.  Her hands rounded into fists.  James had a punching bag in the cargo hold.  If she couldn’t find anyone to talk to, then she knew where she could at least punch out her frustrations.  

This was how Marie dealt with her problems: if it wore a Cerberus logo, or had anything to do with the Reapers, she gave them a heavy dose of Omni-Tool straight to the belly.  If that didn’t work, she shot first and never bothered to ask questions.  If the Alliance had wanted some pussy-footing diplomat, they’d sent the wrong operative into space with all their weapons and authority.  They wanted Shepard, and that’s what they got for the price.  Didn’t mean shit didn’t get to her, but when it did if she couldn’t hit it where it hurt, she bloodied her knuckles on whatever was nearby until she felt better.  

She missed Grunt, hell, she missed Wrex.   _Fucking Wrex._  Fucking Krogan.  Like no one else she’d ever met, they knew how to take a hit and they were only ever happy about it.  She needed more of that in her life.  What she didn’t need was the sting of tears behind her eyes and the lump in her throat when she thought about the family she had back on Earth.  Or old friends she hadn’t seen in years.  Not seeing them didn’t mean she didn’t care.  At least it didn’t mean she didn’t care if they got blasted of the face of the whole fucking planet because some giant ass bully thought it knew better than the rest of the Universe how they were supposed to live their lives.  She cared.  Too much, she knew, too much for someone that needed to be cold and clinical to make decisions that involved the fate of not just people, but worlds.  

End of the cycle, her ass.

Before she’d taken on the Normandy, she’d wondered how the rest did it.  How did her commanding officers make such big decisions without being made of fucking granite?  If they kept their hearts in some frozen storage locker, they’d had yet to make such revelations, and if there was ever a time, it was now.  In the meantime, she had a smart mouth and a mean right hook.  If it took more than that, she’d figure it out on the fly.  So far, that method had served her pretty well.  

Of course, the cargo hold was empty.  Of course it was.  As if she’d expected anything different.  Ship of a large number -- but not an infinity -- of rooms, and she’d not seen a soul after she’d had her talk with Anderson and passed through the clean room.  

She sighed, fists tightening as she made her way towards the cubby James had carved out for him and his workbench.  Punching bag, pull up bar, work bench and a shit ton of boxes full of parts and tools, and whatever she’d ordered last time they’d been on the Citadel (she didn’t even remember now -- no one should ever trust her with a credit chit and nothing practical to spend it on).  

Marie stripped off her sweatshirt and tossed it on one of the nearby boxes.  She repositioned the straps on her tank and sports bra, and tugged up a stretch of camo over her thighs so she could bend down into position.  One of these days she’d talk to James about painting a target on this bag: Kai Leng, a Reaper, the Illusive Man, fuck-it she’d even take Udina’s smug-ass face if it meant having a real focus for her anger and frustration.  Lacking visual stimulation, she was reduced to throwing a few weak punches at the bag to at least get it swinging.  Once it was moving it was easier to hit harder, fist pounding against the weight of momentum with each swing.

It didn’t take long once the bag was swinging for her to work up a sweat.  She could feel it pooling at the small of her back, the backs of her knees, under her arms; sweat slipped down from her hairline in slow, wending rivulets by the time she grabbed the bag to still it and stepped back for air.  

“Damn, Lola.”

Marie whipped around.  From the way his weight shifted as she focused on him, she figured he’d been leaning against his workbench for a while.  No telling how long she’d been fighting the enemies she’d pictured on that canvas, other than the slow building ache she felt in her arms and thighs that told her it had been longer than she’d intended.  There was a bottle of water on the edge of the bench, and she nodded at it, wiping sweat out of her eyes with the back of her hands.  

James tossed the bottle and as soon as she caught it, she was working the lid off.  It was cold sliding down; it felt amazing.  As she chugged as much of it as she could without a breath, she picked up her sweatshirt form the box and used it to wipe her face.  When she came up for a breath, she shot James a question in the form of a lifted eyebrow.  

“Hell if I know, Commander.  Looked like you’d been going at it a while when I got here.”

She took another, much smaller, drink of her water and then wiped off her hands -- moving the bottle from one hand to the other -- and then the base of her neck.  It wasn’t an effective use of her favorite N7 gear, but it worked in a pinch.  

“So you just thought you’d watch, Vega?  That it?”

He rolled his shoulders, standing straight with that cocky-ass grin she’d threatened more than once to slap off of his face.  Fuck it all if she wasn’t feeling that look right now though.  He had nearly a foot on her and who knew how much weight but going by the size of his forearms, it was enough to lay her out flat -- provided she never saw it coming.  It was no wonder they’d sent someone like him to watch her in that fucking might-as-well-have-been-a-prison Alliance suite.  If you weren’t Marie Shepard, you might’ve been intimidated by a guy Vega’s size.  

Marie had been, at the time, too pissed off to give him much of a chance to even be nice to her, let alone give him a second thought.  The one she was giving him now was a pretty nice one, if she did say so herself, and she did (after all: her’s was the only fucking opinion that mattered).

“Hey, Lola, I’m not about to stop a good show happening in my workspace.  You know?”  His grin turned just this side from annoying to tempting.  

“Fuck you,” she snapped, almost hoping he’d take her up on the offer.  

He’d done nothing but flirt and tease for months.  Well, there was the the one kiss, that night he’d come up to her cabin to ask about being N7.  Of course, she’d made the wrong assumption and he’d let her down: awkward but gentle.  She knew he had some sort of weird honorable respect for the rules, especially the ones about fraternization, but on her ship... well, that was a rule being broken well, and daily but other members of the crew.  She didn’t give a shit when the whole world was getting picked over by an extermination crew about a billion years old.

“Whoa!” he raised his hands.  “Didn’t mean nothing by it, Commander.  Just...” he shrugged and slowly lowered his hands.  “Appreciative.”

That sounded more promising than she’d expected.  Adrenaline that should’ve been depleted with the gallons she’d sweat during her workout, surged through her.  After this she was going to need to retreat to her cabin, maybe strike a personal, private conversation between her thighs and her shower.  Though...

James’ eyes weren’t straying from hers like a kid with his first prom date.  Marie licked her lips, tasting the salt on her lips and swallowing it along with her doubt.  Marie Shepard threw caution to the fucking wind, not because she was the Commander of the Normandy, not because she had the best fucking crew in the Universe, or because she didn’t care what anyone thought.  She tossed it all because what was it going to matter in a month if he turned her down a second time.  They might not all be sculpted muscle and latin charm, but there were other men in the world, ones that’d let her ride them until her thighs ached if she so much as looked at them twice.

“You change your mind, James?  Think you could put some action behind that appreciation?  Or are you still all talk?”

“I uh- “ his smile faltered briefly and he turned to glance back towards the benches in the back of the hold.  Other than the two of them, the place was as much a ghost town as it’d been when she’d arrived. Even the bots were quiet.  

“Got it.  Won’t ask again,” she said, giving up.  She tossed the empty bottle of water onto his workbench.  “See you at dinn--”

The rest of her dismissal was buried against a crush of lips, the surprise of two giant hands on either side of her.  James grabbed her waist and tugged her hips forward into him.  His kiss was warm, simple at first, hungry a moment later as he swiped his tongue against her lips asking for more.  Marie started to pull away, but only because the surprise had left her speechless... breathless.  

_James Vega, ladies and gentlemen, stepping up to the plate._

Marie’s hands were on him in hot moment, not willing to give him up if this was all she was getting, she was going to make it fucking last.  She cupped his ass, squeezing tight though the huge pockets the Alliance seemed determined to put on every fucking uniform got in the way somewhat.  Her other hand clawed at his chest, wishing that even that thin layer of fabric between her hands and his pecs was gone.  She opened her mouth, let his tongue slide against hers until she absolutely had to break away for a breath.

“Sorry, Lola.  Thought I’d take you up on that offer, if you’re still giving it.”

“Don’t fuck with me, James,” she growled.  “No jokes.  If you’re serious, be serious with me right now.”

He lifted a hand between them, his grin gone slack.  “Serious as my ink,” he answered roughly.

“Good answer.”

His lips were on hers again in a heartbeat -- hers, they were faster -- and she felt his boots scoot against hers.  He slid his feet forward one at a time, pushing against her boots until the workbench hit her in the ass. There was a rattle of tools and the recognizable clatter of the mostly empty water bottle as it rolled off onto the floor.  James swept a hand behind her and she heard the distinctive clanking of metal tools being pushed off to the side, she hummed into his kiss approvingly.

Her eyelids fluttered as he hefted her off the ground, still kissing her, lifting her by the waist and setting her down on the bench.  More than once she’d thought of the things she’d be willing to let him do to her on that bench.  She’d never been too subtle about watching either, she wondered if he got as turned on by a good workout as she did.  Maybe if she’d known that before, she would’ve better timed her come-ons.  

She moaned as he yanked her tank up from her waist and slipped his hand under the band of her sports bra to cup her breast.  His other hand fumbled in her hair, keeping her head back as his kisses traveled down onto her neck.  If she’d been taller, maybe she could’ve hooked her boots over each other behind his back, but the man was too broad.  She settled on squeezing her thighs on either side of his chest as she slid her hands under his sleeves to feel his shoulders.  

_Shoulders should not be so fucking erotic_ , she thought.  Though there was undeniable evidence to the contrary beneath her fingertips.

“Fuck,” she whispered as James took his hand off her breast and started undoing the buttons on her fatigues.  

“That’s the idea, Lola.”

“Shep- ... Marie,” she corrected.  “Get it right.”  Not even caring she’d nearly called herself Shepard, she repeated herself.  “Marie.”

“Got it... Marie.”  

Well now it just sounded weird.  “Fuck.”

At least the man knew his way around the removal of a lady’s pants.  He had them undone and around her knees a few moments later.  She didn’t even mind, there was no fucking way she was wasting time by taking her boots off, not when James had his hands between her legs.  Sure it was awkward as hell, but she didn’t mind so much when he took those thick hands of his and pushed her legs apart far enough to put his face between her thighs.  

Never had he been fucking hotter than the moment he dragged her ass to the edge of the table, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and looked up at her as his fingers slid apart and his tongue slipped between her folds.  Those trunk like forearms held her legs in place as he turned his chin down and buried his face into his work.

When her legs were shaking and she was gripping her fingernails into his forearms to keep from screaming out, he lifted his head and let out a cool breath against a heat he had not yet sated.  

“You. Are. Not. Done.”

“Course not.”  

He grinned and drove two fingers inside her, curling up, pulling out, thrusting in again.  He maneuvered so he could stand, keeping rhythm with his hand as he leaned down to press his mouth to one of her breasts, over her shirt.  He grabbed hold of a nipple, teasing it between his teeth before letting go again.

Marie’s hips bucked his fingers, and she had to live for the touch of his lips as he kissed her arms and her collar bone, pressed her chin up with his head to kiss her throat.  If she stopped gripping the bench to touch him, she could not be held responsible for whatever they broke on the way to the ground.  

As good as it felt (and how in the fucking hell was she supposed to have known he was going to know his way around a good fingering?) fingers were not cocks.  And goddamnit, she had not spent months casting glances at the obvious outline in his fatigues to be this close and not see what he was packing.  

“Vega,” she growled.  

He looked up at her, question written clearly in every feature.  

“Fuck. Me.”

He gave her that fucking cocky grin that said he was enjoying making her wait a little too much.  She made note that if they got a repeat of this, she’d return the favor.  “Just trying to make the most--”

“James, if I’m not bent over this fucking bench in the next 15 seconds, I swear I will go upstairs and finish myself.”

He nodded, and she could swear that she got a glimpse of what his face must’ve looked like when she’d been working out.  Admiration sparkled in his eyes, but it didn’t slow him down.  A moment later that look was quickly squashed by the hunger that she’d felt his first kiss.  He didn’t have to be told again, wasting no time to pull her down.  He fumbled with his pants and she pushed his hands aside, not impatient -- okay, impatient -- but eager and horny, and commanding.  Marie liked to take charge, and not just on the command deck.  If she could do it faster and better, then she would.

She had him in hand a moment later, not disappointed in the least as she freed his well-sized cock from his pants.  Hints and shadows weren’t as good as the real thing in her hands and there were a lot more things she promised herself she’d do to him next time.  Oh, and there was going to be a next time, she was no longer hedging her bets on if.

He grunted eagerly as she ran her hand down the length of him and flicked her fingers over the tip.  Rounding back again, he pressed into her hand and leaned down to kiss her shoulder, teeth grazing the flesh next to her tank straps.  

“How stupid was I?” he asked and it was so low, she wondered if he’d meant to say it aloud.

“Really fucking stupid?”

“Fuck, Lo--  Marie.  Marie.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

He dug his fingers into her waist as he turned her around.  She had to let him go, but promises made were promises kept.  She leaned onto the bench as she felt him pressed against her.  He had an arm around her waist and lifted her up as his other hand positioned himself to enter her.  Without a warning (and who was she kidding, she was wet as motherfucking-april-showers) he thrust into her and the both of them let out heavy moans.  She clamped down on hers, no one needed to hear the Commander’s moans echoing throughout the ship, and she had the voice for it.

“Marie,” James leaned into her and whispered into her hair.  Not that it was unappealing, any man willing to go down on her their first time was aces in her book, but she could smell herself on his breath.  And while her focus should’ve been on the way he felt inside her, she had a brief, unwelcome thought of how much she was going to need a shower after this.  Even so, it was so very much, worth it.

She pushed her hips against him as he thrust into her again, appreciating just how powerful each of those thrusts were.  It wasn’t the size, but he knew how to put each of those muscles of his to work, and his hips snapped as he built a rhythm, and somehow he still managed to hold on to her with one hand, keeping her at just the right angle.

It didn’t take much more to push her skin to tingling, warmth pooled from her head to her feet, and she felt near ready to explode.  Her mind went blank except for the focus on how good it felt, and even that faded to hazy as James’ breaths started to come quicker and more shallow behind her.  

“James,” she whimpered pressing her head to her forearm as she held her hips against each of his thrusts.  There was a singularity inside her, a moment where it was all going to push over the proverbial cliff, and it was a tall fucking cliff that she felt like she’d been climbing forever.

“Oh Sh-” James groaned and she felt the swell inside her that said she better bear down or miss all the fun.    

She didn’t know if he’d meant to say Shepard, or shit, but it didn’t matter a moment later when she couldn’t even hold in her own voice.  Their voices were muffled by the boxes around them, but only in that one cubby James called a workspace.  The rest of the cargo hold reverberated with moans that were not even trying to be the least bit subtle about what was happening.

“Yes,” she groaned, breathless and spent, leaning against James’ workbench.  “God-fucking-finally.”

James made some sound that was indecipherable as human speech to her primitive post-sex brain.  She didn’t need speech to recognize the feel of thick, wet trails running down the inside of her legs.  Fuck it, a little cum gathering in her fatigues was fucking worth it to feel so good.  Her shower was big enough for a good lie down if she wanted to just let the heat wash over her, while all the sex washed off of her.  

She groaned at the small tweak of pain in her back as she leaned down to grab her pants and pull them up from around her ankles.  James was already backing away to do the same.  She gave him a lazy smile.  He returned it was a heavy-lidded cat-ate-the-canary grin that said he was feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself.  

_Well, after that, he ought to._

“Not bad, Vega,” she teased.  “You wanna take action like that again, we’ll talk.”

“Maybe I will.”  He buttoned his pants and then stood there, folding his arms over his chest like the whole thing had come full circle.  She guessed maybe it had.  

Except this time her response wasn’t frustration, just a sloppy grin and a middle finger.  “Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

“Maybe after my shower.”

 

The End.

 


End file.
